dency to
exaggeration is exceedingly diverting, whilst the excellent terms he is
upon with himself, frequently compel a smile. His prolixity we can
overlook, but we have difficulty in pardoning the questionable taste of
certain portions of his book. In commenting on its defects, however,
allowances must be made for the bad health of the writer. Doubtless he
intends that they should be, for he repeatedly informs us that he is
troubled with a pulmonary complaint of many years' standing, to which he
anticipates a fatal termination. "I strive," he says, "to escape, by
observation of the outer world, and of mankind, from the natural
tendency to brood over misfortune, and seek to discover in occupation
that cheerfulness which would be inevitably lost in an unemployed
existence, and in dwelling on the phases of my illness." What can we say
after such an appeal to our feelings? how criticise with severity a book
written under these circumstances? If we hint incredulity as to the
gravity of the author's malady, we shall be classed with those unfeeling
persons, "whose levity and heartlessness not only refuse to sympathise,
but often even doubt if my sickness be real." Truly, when we learn that
between the months of September and December last, the sick man
travelled fifteen hundred miles--the latter portion of the distance
through districts where he was compelled to rough it--exposed to
frequent vicissitudes of temperature, and to the unhealthy climate of
Madrid--sudden death to consumptive patients--eating, according to his
own record, with the appetite of a muleteer, "rushing into ventas, and
roaring lustily for dinner," (vide vol. i. p. 206.)--holding furious
discussions in coffee-houses, and winding them up, after utterly
extinguishing his opponents, with Propagandist harangues eight pages
long, (ibid. p. 334,)--and, finally, writing--in the intervals of his
journey, we presume,--the two bulky and closely printed volumes now upon
our table, we must say that many persons in perfect health would rejoice
to vie with so sturdy an invalid. We do hope, therefore, and incline to
believe, that the yellow flag thus despondingly hung out is a false
signal; that Mr. Hughes, if not to be ranked altogether under the head
of imaginary valetudinarians, is at any rate in a far less desperate
state than he imagines; and that he will live long, long enough to amend
his style, refine his tone, and write a book as commendable in all
respects as t